


Catch the sun before it's gone 6/?

by Abi_Sapien



Series: Catch the sun before it's gone [6]
Category: MMFR, Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Foul Language, Heavy Petting, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, emotionally constipated war boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_Sapien/pseuds/Abi_Sapien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 6: in which they see stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch the sun before it's gone 6/?

 

 

           Slices of star-spattered sky were visible through the metal bars and softly rustling greenthings up above.

Nux stares up, staring at the white dust and bright specks of distant light staring down at him - at them. The back seat of the War Rig is big but hardly big enough for the two of them. Nux has folded himself as small as possible, to make enough room for both of them to lie down.

 

Cold shivers creep up and down his arms, but underneath the blanket is warm enough, with another body pressed flush against his back, one arm draped across his chest and the other cradling his head, and their legs tangled, keeping the night fevers at bay. Slit is snoring gently, his face against the back of Nux's neck.

Something grabs and twists in Nux's chest. Makes his breath catch and stutter in his lungs, attempting to make him cough, and Nux would not, he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to wake Slit with his immortandamned coughing, not now. He swallows the cough, a painful lump, can't help clearing his throat. 

  
Slit stirs. His arm under Nux's head moves. Sleepily he rubs Nux's head and presses his nose and mouth against the skin and the scarred emblem on Nux's back and breathes deep. It just makes the choking feeling in Nux's chest worse. Feels like it's crawling up his throat and threatening to strangle him.  
  
Nux wants to turn around and start kissing Slit again, wake him up and let him stop Nux's whirring brain with his hands and fingers and mouth and all of his body – like it always does, it's easier when they're at it, all over each other, all lust and hunger and teeth and no words and no thought involved. It becomes difficult when it's quiet like this. This is when it feels – worse, but that's not the right word – it feels – harder. Because under his ribs, it starts to hurt, like his beating heart is suddenly one giant, tortured bruise.  
  
It hurts to be this close and this quiet.  
  


\- - -

 

 

Nux lets him lure him to the empty bay where the War Rig is waiting to be prepared for the next haul. It's dark and silent, and Slit doesn't believe for a moment that Nux doesn't know why they're there. The Imperators would flog them if they knew about them sneaking around like this. There's hardly any light, save from the moon and the stars burning the night sky almost pale blue. Everything is black and white.  


Nux is a long, white form against the side of the gleaming black side of the rig. He's running his hand reverently against the flawless paintwork.

 

” It's perfect,” he whispers, his face open and smiling, eyes shining.

 

Slit is silent. He just looks, but not at the rig.

 

” Yeah.”

 

\- - -

 

 

The wide back seat of the rig is covered in flawless, sleek black leather. The inner roof is chromed, adorned with the emblems of Immortan himself. The seat is soft and luxurious and cool as the desert wind against bare skin. The War Rig is, indeed, perfect.

 

\- - -

 

Nux is easily worn out and often light-headed. He might not be feeling so hot either, but at least he can stand up and carry on with the tasks of a War Boy. Somehow Slit still can't bring himself to be annoyed with Nux's weakness. Right now it just gives him an upper hand he's never really had with Nux.  


Nux always outsmarting or overpowering him, always. If not by strenght, then by rank. He can't bring himself to being bitter about it either.  
  
Not now, when Nux is warm and pliable underneath him and staring up at him with those big, pretty eyes of his. Mouth soft and open, baring his sharp, fanged teeth in a hungry smile. Breathing hard, head tilted back over the seat. Skinny chest heaving against Slit's stomach. Hard against the inside of his thigh.  
  
Slit's deep, stapled wounds hurt but he bites-and-swallows the pain down, wont let it ruin this.

 

\- - -

 

Nux touches the badly healed wounds. Slit recoils and hisses through clenched teeth. Doesn't attack Nux's hand though. Freezes, breathing shallow, obviously hurting. Lets him.  
  
Nux wonders what the shrapnels tore at inside Slit. Didn't mean to hurt him, but did anyway.

Still, Slit lets him.

 

\- - -

 

Holding tight and close.

Both arms around his shoulders, around his neck.

Has to be careful with the wounds, it's stupid but the pain is so sharp it's distracting.

From the heat. Skin on skin. Everywhere.  
  
His skin is so warm, sweat-sticky, smooth and cool at places – at his sides, the thin layer of skin over sleek muscle and coy bones of his ribcage - cool at first touch, but warming up under his hands. He wants to feel the heat. He wants to feel it all. Clothes are on the way. Can't feel enough. His fingers tripping on the buckles and buttons and zips, fucking _zips_ –!  
  
Hips bucking up, offering easier access, taut muscles on a flat stomach.

He sees this shit every day and now when he half can't see, he's aching – he's drunk of the feel, and the sounds, and the rising scent, his head is woozy and spinny and hot.  
  
He manages to fumble the clothes off. First his own, then his. It happens too fucking slow and it can't happen fast enough. His hands are fucking useless. He curses silently. The response he gets is a stifled giggle-groan. Feet kicking the stiff pain-in-the-ass garments off. Stuff clattering on the floor.  
  
Can't happen quickly enough.  
  
Lips on the map of raised scar tissue on pale skin. Dragging down. Across the soft stomach, hastily kissing the shallow hollow of the navel and then skimming further, following a faint trail of hair leading down from there. A surprised gasp from above, a hand grabbing his shoulder. Fingers digging into the muscle. The hand is trembling slightly.

 

A plea whispered against soft skin.

 

\- - -

 

Nux is whimpering softly. Sounds almost like he's hurting, but he's breathing deep, shocked and euphoric, in between every audible shivery exhale.

It curls like smoke inside Slit's throat, inside his stomach. It makes his ears burn. It makes his - he has to grab himself – just for a moment – he doesn't want to get distracted.  
  
He lets go of his hard cock and braces himself better on both elbows. Ignores the delicious, extatic burn inside his guts. Wills himself to concentrate.  


Challenges himself. So he flattens his wet tongue against the hot, smooth-hard weight filling his mouth and pushes his head down, until his eyes water and he feels like gagging against the pressure of the sleek, round head pressing against the back of his throat. The body in his hands arches up, muscles tensing, rock-hard and trembling.  
  
Slit digs his fingers into the flesh, hard enough to bruise, too keep him still. He would smile smugly if he only could, now, with his mouth otherwise occupied.  
  
Licks and sucks. Drags his lips along the shaft, wet and obscene. Laves his tongue again along the smooth-soft-slick underside.  


All the while he shakes and moans, softly, softly, grabbing wherever he can – his hand bent over his head to clutch the handle on the door, knuckles white. Other hand halfway fighting to push Slit away and then pulling him closer.

 

Long fidgeting fingers running restless over the shaved head moving between his legs.

Slit grabbing his spread thighs roughly and swallowing him into his throat, mouth open, lips touching the sparse curls of coarse hair on the base of his cock. Coaxing more of those sweet, strained sounds out of his mouth helplessly hanging open.

  
\- - -

 

It feels _so good_.  


Nux can't think, he can't move, he can't breathe. His head feels like it's floating off his body.

 

He can hear himself making a lot of embarrassing sounds, a lot of high, shaky whimpers, and he just can't shut up. Every exhale he lets out is a helpless cry of pleasure. It's horrible. It's lovely. Slit's mouth is incredibly hot and wet and lovely. Where ever has he ever learned something like this? Nux almost stops to wonder and then Slit somehow slides him even deeper into his throat.

 

Nux grapples at the door until finds the handle for purchase. His vision goes completely black and he forgets to breathe, his whole body jumping, then melting into the heat and warmth and unrelenting pressure around his cock.   
  
He would want to grab Slit's head with both his hands and _fuck_ that sweet, wide mouth stretched around his hard cock, but he's dissolving, his muscles feel like liquid and his skin is burning extatic and hot stretched over his rattling bones.

The roof of the car seems to flicker and sparkle in the half-light.

” Just - let me. I kinda owe you one”, he had said, low, lips against the tender skin of his abdomen. Nux didn't understand, but he didn't care either, not anymore.

 

\- - -

 

He swallows – surprised, almost choking, not having been exactly prepared – not for the taste – he did know. But it was different. Salty, bittersweet, hot like blood. He doesn't care. The sound Nux makes when he comes makes all the blood remaining in his system run straight to his already painfully hard cock. Makes him want to swallow, no matter that it makes him cough and gag.  


So he does, swallowing and swallowing around the round head of Nux's lovely, delicious cock still in his mouth, pressed between his moving tongue and soft palate.  
  
The extatic cry reverbrates in his bones. He can't see properly in the half-dark. He pets at Nux's still trembling abdomen, runs his hand up until his fingertips reach the edges of the scars on his chest. He still has Nux's cock in his mouth, spit-slick and still half-hard. He likes this taste, it's warm and almost sweet.  
  
Nux is panting, his breathing jagged and raw and exhausted, still shaking, shaking.

  
Slit is extremely pleased with himself, despite the faint ache in his jaw.

 

\- - -

 

Nux is keeping his eyes closed and catching his breath. He can feel Slit moving, cold air suddenly there where just a moment ago he was engulfed in lush, delicious heat. It feels almost violent, until Slit lays down on top of him and covers his body with his own.

Nux knows Slit is staring at his face from inches away. He's afraid to open his eyes. His eyes feel wet and stinging. Breathing is suddenly very hard, not only because Slit is very damn heavy lying on Nux's chest and half crushing his lungs.

Nux's nose is stuffy and he keeps gasping, short stutters of air, through his still-open mouth.

Slowly he unhooks his fingers from around the doorhandle above his head, but doesn't know where to put his hand next. Eyes still closed.

 

” Hey,” Slit says, voice low, purring inside his wide chest, against Nux's still tingling skin.

 

Against all his will Nux forces himself to open his eyes. His vision is blurry; it's awful. His eyes are leaking and he can't help it.

He wants to blink but it'd only make the flood of tears worse. They're pooling under his eyelids and blurring the silvery roof Nux is determinedly staring at, every Immortan's emblem shimmery round the edges in the wispy moonlight.

 

” Are you crying?” Slit asks. Sounds genuinely surprised, but could also be fucking with him.

Nux doesn't look at him. Can't see his expression. He just puts his palm against Slit's face and pushes him away with a small, angry movement.

 

” Fuck off,” he snaps.  
  
Slit grabs his wrist and pries his hand off his face. Doesn't say anything, just looks at him.

 

Nux looks away, feeling hot traces running down his temples. He's not crying, for fuck's sake. His eyes are just leaking and he can't understand why, either. It felt so, so, _so_ good. Coming, like that. Into – into something soft and warm and wet and – eager – the memory flashing somewhere behind his eyes (the sight of Slit's head bowed down there, in between his spread thighs, lips, paintless pink lips closed around the shaft of his jutting cock) makes his breath stutter embarrassingly.

Sometimes Nux hates it when Slit stares at him like that. Intensely, his carefully mangled face and bad eye betraying nothing about his thoughts. It feels like Slit is either preparing to dissect him like a faulty engine or looking for a sore spot where to poke next. 

  
Nux returns the stare defiantly.  
  
Then the soft thing inside his chest is stirring and opening, warm and welcoming even before he fully understands the look on Slit's face.

  
His stare, fluttering desperately from Nux's eyes to his parted lips, hungry and strangely reverent. Like Nux is the single most shiny and chrome fucking thing he's ever laid his eyes upon and he can't look away. Like he looks at the Altar of Wheels. Nux wants to laugh incredulously but the sound dries in his throat.  
  
Slit tastes of salt and embarrassingly, slighty of Nux, and of dark and sweet: himself. Nux's heart feels like it's crawling up his throat. His giddy fucking heart, it can't decide where it wants to be when – when -

 

” That nice, huh?” Slit mutters against Nux's mouth. Now Nux laughs, a small, happy sound, and nods, chest almost caving into the swelling, sweet hollow underneath his heart.

 

\- - -

 

So he is lying awake, listening to the distant sounds of the Citadel and the desert night, to Slit's breathing, easy, effortless, unlike his own. He keeps absent-mindedly petting the arm draped over his chest until Slit catches his wandering hand and closes it into his own and keeps it there, their fingers loosely interlaced, like some kind of backwards salutation to the Engine.

Nux studies their hands quietly.

 

Maybe there was a way to stop the invisible line appearing between their toes. To stop the odd, worldess chasm opening between them.  


It had felt like it'd been getting worse since -

Nux felt his tongue drying into his mouth too often. Especially when the thing in his chest stirred it's feathery wings (Like when Slit had brought them here. The starlit bay and the War Rig, and Slit – watching him with those dark eyes of his, watching Nux instead of the Rig and smiling like he didn't know he even was smiling.) – it rendered him clumsy and mute and quietly despairing. And Slit was impenetrable like a stone wall, caustic and downright sinister more often than not. At least it helped with the aching. Made him less hopeful - like they could even afford that.

 

But then he's there, crawling into his bed at night, sharing his blankets and warmth. Breathing against his skin. Making Nux wonder if he – if there was a shadow of something like the thing coiling under Nux's ribs fleeting over Slit, too.

 

\---

 

 


End file.
